


The Ones Who Cry

by spaceghost



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceghost/pseuds/spaceghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What didn't make sense was Arima's thought that Haise was beautiful. Arima wasn't some gabby girl gushing over her first crush. He was an adult man, settling into the apex of his career."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ones Who Cry

**Author's Note:**

> I notice a lot of Tokyo Ghoul and Tokyo Ghoul Re: portrays Arima as an emotionless man, with no thoughts or emotions. I wanted to change that, to let people see inside his head! I hope you enjoy it.

It was dusk when Arima and Haise finally emerged from the doors of the Commission for Counter Ghoul's headquarters. The pair knew this from the quiet chirp of cicadas and the wonderful reds and oranges mixing in the sky. The tension from long meeting was finally dissipating from their bodies as they stretched their arms and legs, Haise pulling both his hands skyward and letting out a sigh. He put his hands on his hips and swung around to face Arima.

"Ready to call it a day?"

Smiling at the other's candid nature, Arima replied.

"Sure, Haise." 

They began to walk the narrow path toward the gate, a path that wound through a wooded area of CCG's campus. They'd always walked this path together after work, soaking in the sounds of the evening and letting silence take hold. It was a peaceful time, one that Arima valued immensely. 

Half way down the path, Arima stole a glance at the younger man, who walked arms behind his head, eyes closed, smiling and nodding at the trees. He couldn't help but smile. Even after a hard day at work, Haise still found something to appreciate, something to smile at. That was something Arima struggled to do, often emerging from the office a wilted, deadened version of himself. But Haise always managed to do the opposite. There was something else about him that Arima couldn't put a finger on. 

Haise caught the glance of the other and threw a smile back. 

"What's up Arima? Whatcha thinking about?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to stop by my place for dinner. It's been a while since I had company" 

Arima mustered a small uneven smile. Why was he doing this? He knew he liked to spend his evenings alone, digging into a new novel or lying lazily in from of the television.

Anyway, it was too late to take back the offer. 

Haise's smile widened and he nodded his head firmly.

"That sounds great."

As the two worked together in the kitchen, in between laughs, Arima couldn't help but notice the other man stealing glances at him. After he chopped some onions, glance, after he stirred some food, glance, after he spilled the pot of their soup, glance. It was odd. Arima always heard that the other man could whip up a meal like no other. Yet today, the other seemed off. But why? It was just a simple dinner. But yet, Arima couldn't help but think of what these glances meant. Is there something on my face? Am I slicing the vegetables wrong? Finally, he thought, it must be because he had such great skills in the kitchen. That's it. 

But it seemed like something else. 

After two hours of eating, conversation and jokes, Haise flopped himself down on Arima's plush couch, rubbing a hand over his stomach. 

"Sorry, Arima! I'm just so full. You really are a master in the kitchen."

Arima heart thumped hard and he beamed internally.

"It's fine. Don't worry."

Soon after, Arima sat down next to the younger man and flipped on the television. 

Before the older man knew it, Haise had scooted up to him, and, laying his head drowsily on his shoulder, fell fast asleep. 

And so, as Arima watched a late-night program, Haise noiselessly slept on his shoulder. But Arima couldn't concentrate on his program, glancing around the dark living room, eyes flitting from a framed award he'd received from CCG to a dark curtain blowing gently by the window.

He was sweating. 

Haise had always been somewhat of a touchy person, known to bear-hug his squad members after a particularly successful training session, gushing about how great they'd performed. Even Arima had to admit this; he felt too often the other's unusual closeness as they stormed down the hallways of CCG.

But Haise had never been this close. Arima could see his chest rising and falling and--if he squinted--his delicate eyelashes twitching, dark butterfly wings on a porcelain canvas. A bizarre thought crossed Arima's mind: Haise was beautiful. He shook his head and tried to rationalize. Come on. He'd always knew his mentee was handsome; he'd seen enough young women at CCG gawking at the younger man. Arima figured it was because Haise was the perfect match: handsome and full of success so early in life. That was it. That made sense.

What didn't make sense was Arima's thought that Haise was beautiful. Arima wasn't some gabby girl gushing over her first crush. He was an adult man, settling into the apex of his career. He should be feeling attracted to women his age, right? Someone that made more sense, like Akira Mado, a bold and smart woman who made her job as easy as looking good. Besides, Haise was handsome, sure, but beautiful? Beautiful was not a light term; it was reserved for a quiet zen garden or the red lipstick smile of a young woman. 

Either way, Arima had to admit that Haise made him feel something he hadn't felt in years. It was a feeling of happiness tainted with a smidgen of giddiness. He hated to admit it, but the other boy had a charm and worked it perfectly, smiling constantly and waving his hands in such an adorable way. That bastard probably didn't even know what he was doing.

Arima's perfectly starched white collar begin to grow damp with sweat. 

Who was he kidding?

As Arima sat beside the younger man, his mind began to wander. He thought about how Haise/Kaneki looked when he first saw him. He wasn't the curious and chatty young man he was today. 

He was a monster. From afar, he looked like a mutated shell of a human as he limped toward Arima. Scratch that, he wasn't human, but a creature covered in its victims' carnage. He dragged his torn kakuja toward Arima, face twisted in a hellish, tormented expression. He seemed unaware of his own body, panting heavily and ignoring his body's obvious cries to stop. At that time, Arima, although somewhat disgusted by such a sight, had peered at him stoically. He was just another young man who took himself too seriously, thought Arima. He was a fool. And he didn't feel anything--other than the squelch of flesh beneath him--when he stabbed Kaneki straight through the eyes. 

But then, then, things changed. After Kaneki was ruled missing, his barely alive corpse was been dumped in a 4' x 6' cell, a cell that soon became caked with his own blood in sweat. He rolled in it, he lived in it, day by day, no doubt becoming used to the sick coppery smell of his own fluids. And he screamed. Not just any scream; he screamed long agonized ones soaked in suffering. And it wasn't a scream that knew the relief of agony, it was a scream that had given up hope a long time ago.

Soon, Arima realized he couldn't stand it. The daily screams that came from the holding cells struck him to his very core. He had heard the screams of many ghouls, yes, that was true. But this scream, it wasn't that of a weathered and bitter ghoul. It was the scream of a child. A child who had lost everything and was begging to be set free. That's when Arima started dropping by. He wouldn't interact with the damaged ghoul, only sit outside in the hallway, reading a book. He felt that, in some way, if he sat by the ghoul's cell, it would give him comfort. And in some way, it did. The screams grew less and less. And silence began. Only, it wasn't just silence. It was listening.

A couple of weeks later, Arima tossed a book in his cell, one of his favorites: Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis. It was the tale of a young man who had become monstrous and lost all hope in his tiny shred of humanity that remained. Maybe this was something the young ghoul could relate to, Arima thought, almost smirking at his own twisted sense of humor. 

But it worked. And before he knew it, Arima had ordered the ghoul, no, the boy, be relocated, placed in the medical unit of CCG. But why, his comrades had asked, why do you want to treat this ghoul like a human? Arima didn't really know. He just knew that his orders reigned supreme. And he was glad for that.

In the present, the beautiful boy who rested his head on Arima's shoulder was different. More calm, stable. Living a happy life, unaware of past sufferings. It was perfect. Ideal, Arima thought. And he finally reached his goal: seeing the tortured boy begin to heal and become whole again. 

And because of this, he knew his attraction to Haise wasn't fair. He was innocent, a young soul who, although entrenched in the dirtiest and goriest of situations, always had a positive word to speak. He couldn't do this to the boy; he couldn't taint him. As far as Arima felt, he was just a lecherous old men, preying on the young and damaged. But no! That wasn't him. He'd come to the boy with the purest of intentions, that's right. But now, his feelings were betraying his intentions. He wanted to keep the boy from becoming damaged again. So he couldn't bring the boy toward himself, toward a man who was also damaged and didn't have a future in this world.

So he knew it wouldn't last. It couldn't. Haise would one day have to face the world again. He was like a small bird curled up in an egg; he was flourishing in his protected environment. But one day he would have to awake and peck his way out of the shell, exposing himself to the world's hurtful truths. 

Arima didn't want that. 

Arima was snapped out of his thoughts by the feeling of movement against his shoulder. 

The boy was shifting, squirming in his sleep. Arima, smiling softly, let his hand wander over to stroke the boy's cheek, softly. Haise's hardened expression of the past was replaced by a tranquil smile. Arima then touched Haise's mysterious and odd white hair streaked with black. When Arima wasn't paying attention, he could have sworn he was cuddling with another old man, one with a small frame, and shocking white hair. Arima chuckled at the thought: two old men cuddling together, huh?

Suddenly, under the touch of Arima's fingers, Haise snapped awake as quickly as he'd fallen asleep.

"Oh! Arima, I'm sorry, I just fell asleep an-"

"It's okay." Arima answered, quietly.

Worry painted the boy’s face.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Before Arima knew it, tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

"Arima! Hey, hey, hey....it's okay." 

The boy fidgeted, nervous, and finally let his hand wrap itself around Arima's shoulder.

The older man collapsed, his tears coming quickly, quiet sobs shaking his body.

"Hey...what's wrong?"

"I..I don't know.." 

'How could you let him see this?' Arima snapped at himself for lack of composure. To think that he had always tried to remain calm and strong for Haise, but was now breaking down in front of the very person he'd been trying to protect. 

What a disgrace.

He covered his face with his hands, not wanting the other to see him like this. 

"Hey," called Haise softly.

He leaned forward, quietly shh-ing, and gently pulled Arima's large hands from his face. 

"I know what you're thinking...you're always trying to be cool all the time..and you are! But I just wanted to let you know you don't have to. It's okay."

He offered a shy smile. 

"I know you're human. So please don't worry about being strong! You can't be all the time. It'll just wear you out." 

Arima glanced up at the boy. Although he was smiling softly, tears were welling up at the corners of his eyes. 

Finally, he let himself shrink forward against Haise's small frame. The other boy wrapped his hands generously around Arima, pulling him closer. Ha, Arima thought, look at him now, he had been the one wanting to shrink out of Haise's life and now he was being pulled closer. His thoughts were cut off by a quiet humming that came from the boy's lips. He peered up and gaze upon Haise's face, calm with contemplation and humming fervently. 

"This...this was a song my mother used to hum to me...I think.."

Arima remained quiet.

"It's called Over the Rainbow. It's a Western song. But it always comforts me."

Haise's expression turned to embarrassed determination.

"So I want you to know that I'm here for you, okay? You can cry and tell me about it. I promise I won't tell anyone."

He inhaled a sharp breath.

"And..and I'll protect you, okay? Don't worry, I won't let you be hurt."

Arima wailed out a long cry, one that faded and disappeared into the dark.


End file.
